


you know i’d never lie, except for when i lie on you in the night

by niuniujiaojiao



Series: if you say it too [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Autistic Melanie King, Blind Character, Cane User Georgie Barker, Canon Compliant, Communication, Crying, Cuddling, Established Relationship, F/F, Hopeful Ending, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, No beta we die like archival assistants, POV Georgie Barker, Pre-Apocalypse, Sharing a Bed, TMAHC Week, doesn't come up but Melanie is Chinese and her last name is Qing, references to Episode: e094 Dead Woman Walking (The Magnus Archives), roasting a corpse is something that can actually be so personal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26173768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niuniujiaojiao/pseuds/niuniujiaojiao
Summary: Georgie tells the story of how she lost her fear again, this time to a better audience.written for The Magnus Archives Hurt/Comfort Week, Day 6 Prompt: Cradled-"God,” Georgie groans. “Why is this so hard?”“Probably because talking sucks,” Melanie says. Georgie laughs, and Melanie adds, “I could... I could hug you while you told me? If that- Would that help?”Georgie considers it, thinks about burying her face in the scent of Melanie’s citrus shampoo, so different from the antiseptic and decay of the Oxford medical building, thinks about feeling the strength of Melanie’s arms around her as she whispers out her story. “Yeah. Maybe.”
Relationships: Georgie Barker/Melanie King
Series: if you say it too [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2109309
Comments: 11
Kudos: 31





	you know i’d never lie, except for when i lie on you in the night

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for: discussion of death of a friend + death of a father + general trauma, swearing, alcohol mention, hypothetical animal death, a good amount of crying, catastrophizing, a sex joke about someone's mom, discussion of consent, discussion of sex, implied sexual content
> 
> This fic fits into my wtgfs fic [tongue-tied lightning](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26014870), though reading it is absolutely not a prerequisite - this fic works 100% fine on its own.
> 
> This Georgie is a Black trans woman who has arthritis and uses a cane, and this Melanie is autistic and blind and uses a cane. I don’t share these identities, and though I’ve done research, there’s always room for improvement. Comment or message me on Tumblr at [pronouncingitwang](https://pronouncingitwang.tumblr.com) with any suggestions or criticism.
> 
> Title from an out-of-context line in [Safety First](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uBLl7CdWINk) by Left at London (feat. Vera Much).

Georgie wraps her braids and changes into her pajamas, feeling—not fear, or apprehension, because that’s not possible, but perhaps, less excitement than usual. She normally doesn’t notice her heartbeat, but tonight, she does. It’s stable, but the fact that she checked in the first place is another bad sign.

“You said you wanted to tell me something,” Melanie says as soon as Georgie gets under her blanket.

Georgie nods slowly, then realizes that Melanie can’t see it. “Yeah. I did.”

“I… I might’ve misread you, but it sounded serious?”

Georgie’s heart continues to beat, slow and steady. “A little.”

“Do you want to start?”

“Sure.”

“Talk away, then.”

“Okay.” Georgie shifts into a more comfortable position, then closes her eyes. “You know how I graduated from uni a year late?”

“Yeahh,” Melanie says, slowly. “You said it was for mental health?”

“Right.” Georgie blows out a breath. “Which was true, definitely, but… that’s not the full story. It’s, well…”

The last time Georgie did this, it was with Jon, the Eye drawing the words out of her like sap from a particularly juicy tree. This time, there’s nothing spurring her forward but her own determination. “Blood from a stone” is a far more apt simile.

“Uh, basically, my first year at Oxford, there was some stuff going down with the med students—or wait, I should probably start by saying I had… a friend named Alex… Or… no… that’s not it, either. _God_ ,” Georgie groans. “Why is this so hard?”

“Probably because talking sucks,” Melanie says. Georgie laughs, and Melanie adds, “I could… I could hug you while you told me? If that- Would that help?”

Georgie considers it, thinks about burying her face in the scent of Melanie’s citrus shampoo, so different from the antiseptic and decay of the Oxford medical building, thinks about feeling the strength of Melanie’s arms around her as she whispers out her story. “Yeah. Maybe.”

It takes a lot of shuffling around to get into the right positions, especially since Georgie’s vast collection of pillows include a body-sized one that forms what’s practically a wall between the two of them. Melanie sniffles a little as Georgie moves a few pillows to the nightstand, and Georgie makes a mental note to buy some allergy-friendly/dust-resistant pillowcases soon. Then, there’s getting into the hug. At some point Melanie grabs Georgie’s boob, which is… something to revisit. Eventually, though, they’re settled properly, Melanie’s arms around Georgie’s waist and their legs tangled together.

“Ready to try again?” Melanie asks, in a voice Georgie’s pretty sure is meant to imitate her therapist’s. She appreciates the effort to sound soothing.

“Yeah. Okay. Rewind. So, my first year at Oxford…”

Even with the hug, it’s still not as easy as it was with Jon. With Jon, Georgie was practically in a trance, but here, she has to form every word herself, relive every image. It’s like… if the first time was Georgie walking through a fog-lined street, her boots crunching uncomfortably against the ground, the second time is Georgie walking through the same street, except the fog is gone and it turns out she’d been stepping on bird bones or something equally crunchy and awful the entire time, and every step she takes, Georgie has to watch the bones break under her feet and cane. Not only that, but she cares more about Melanie’s opinion than Jon’s. As she stumbles forward, Georgie forgets details, has to backtrack, and leaves a lot of modifiers dangling in the process.

But in some ways, this is also easier. Easier because the background sounds are Melanie’s breathing and occasional vocal stimming instead of the dead whir of a tape recorder. Easier because the main physical sensation Georgie’s experiencing isn’t her skin prickling from Jon’s intense gaze on her face, but the increasingly firm circles Melanie is rubbing into her neck.

“And… now I’m here,” Georgie finishes, inadequately. “The end. Or, I guess, the _End_ , with a capital E, according to Jon.”

Georgie feels Melanie swallow. Then, “Georgie… you’re saying you lost—”

Georgie had figured that that part would call for more explanation, but luckily, she has an explanation prepared. “My ability to feel fear, I know, not necessarily a bad thing—”

“—your best friend,” Melanie finishes, and Georgie stops breathing. _Oh_.

“What?”

Melanie shifts against Georgie. “Alex Brooke, right? You said… you said she was your only friend at Oxford, and you said you never saw her again.”

_ Oh _ , Georgie thinks again, and feels a swell of love and long-buried grief rise up in her chest, _oh_.

The first few weeks after she woke up, Georgie had been too numb to even wonder what had happened to Alex. The month after that, she’d tried to call her, three times a day, every day. Then, one day, she’d realized that perhaps she should’ve been checking the newspapers instead of her phone. That night was the first time Georgie’s parents had seen her drunk. They’d looked so afraid—something Georgie would never be able to do again. She’d shouted at them until their concern turned to exasperation and spent the next week in bed biting her nails off.

“I guess I… hadn't thought about that for a while.”

“I'm _so_ sorry, Georgie,” Melanie says. She means it.

“Thanks,” Georgie whispers, for lack of better things to say, and buries her nose further into Melanie’s hair. Her joints are beginning to protest at her staying in this position for so long, but she keeps holding on. Just a few more minutes.

“Do you…” Melanie starts. “Do you miss her?”

“I…” Georgie clears her throat and tries again. “I don’t know,”

“It’s okay if you don’t,” Melanie says. “ I don’t miss my dad most days, and he died a lot more recently than Alex did.”

“Thanks,” Georgie whispers for the second time that night. “I think… I think about her sometimes, but I don’t know if it’s because I _miss_ her, or because… It’s more like… I used to blame myself for going with her instead of- instead of trying to stop her, or pulling her out as soon as I saw how- how _fucked up_ the situation was. And then I spent a lot of time thinking the opposite, blaming her for not leaving well enough alone. I thought, well, ‘Alex already made her choices, and her choices were bad.’ I wished so badly that my younger self had just… stayed away. Let her friend go to her death alone.”

“And now?”

“Now? After you, and Jon, and… Well, now, I don’t know,” Georgie says, and notices, for the first time, that there’s a lump in her throat and that her eyes are stinging. “I don’t”—and then she starts to cry.

Georgie hears the intake of breath from Melanie when she realizes what’s happening, feels Melanie’s thumb stop moving against her neck and just stay there, pressing into her skin. Georgie feels her own throat, choking out various ugly sounds, hears those sounds tear out of her in the form of sobs and ragged breaths. She thinks she might be getting snot on Melanie's shirt and hair, but she’s shaking too badly to reach for a tissue to wipe it off.

Alex and Jon and Melanie and Alex. She’d failed Alex, or maybe Alex failed her. She’d let Jon stay in her guest room and watched him waste away, and then she’d practically told him that she wished he was dead and to get out of her flat. Melanie—Melanie had wanted Georgie’s help, and Georgie’s help had happened to be what Melanie needed, and Melanie is here and safe, but just for now, and if Georgie fails Melanie like she’d failed Alex she will be so fucking sad, and if Melanie fails Georgie like Alex had failed Georgie, she will be so fucking sad, and if Melanie ends up in a coma or on the run or if they cross each other’s boundaries too much she will be so fucking sad—

The first thing that cuts through the crying isn’t comfort, but a different pain—an ache in Georgie's lower back that grows persistently harder to ignore. She groans and turns out of Melanie's arms, back into starfish position on her side of the bed, and Melanie makes a sound of confusion at the sudden loss.

“I moved, it’s- it’s the arthritis,” Georgie explains between one sob and the next, and Melanie says, “Oh, of course.”

—and if either of them grow resentful of each other, then she will be so fucking sad, and if they have money problems or The Admiral dies she will be so fucking sad, and—

Georgie thinks, dully, that crying on her back is very different from crying on her side. Earlier, Georgie could curl into herself, into Melanie, but now, each of her sobs punches upward into empty air. The closest thing to an embrace she has now is her awareness of the potential weight of the ceiling, hanging seven feet above her, out of reach, just like Alex and Jon and maybe, one day—

“Melanie,” Georgie gasps. “Can you… hold my arm or something?”

“Of course,” Melanie responds immediately. Then, “Um, where exactly is your arm?”

“Uh, if you- if you take your hand and go up a little more—”

“Got it.” Melanie says, moving where Georgie has directed her, and for one beautiful second, all of Georgie’s consciousness narrows down to the warmth of those five fingers curling around her skin. Then, she remembers that she’s lying on her bed crying, and the moment is broken. It’s still better now, though, having something to anchor her, something to remind her that she is more than burning eyes and heaving chest.

It takes a while, but eventually, Georgie begins to calm down, her thoughts and breaths slowing down and her muscles loosening. She fumbles for the tissue box and begins to wipe at her face, then passes a few sheets to Melanie.

“I, uh, snotted on your hair a bit,” she explains. “It might be hard to feel, do you want me to get it?” and Melanie nods.

Once they’re all cleaned up and Georgie has fetched them both a glass of water, Melanie turns to her again.

“Is this…” Melanie starts, then stops. “Is this something you want to talk about more, or something you want to be distracted from?”

“I’m… not sure, actually,” Georgie croaks, wiping at her eyes again to catch any stray saltwater. “I just… I wanted you to hear it; I wasn’t really thinking about afterwards.”

“If I had to guess… That sounds like a distraction thing to me? But… I’m not sure what kind of distraction would make you feel better.”

“Well”—Georgie lets out a wet laugh—“you’re already doing miles better than Jon did, at least.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. To be fair, I didn’t cry when I told him about everything. But all he had to say was something about how he”—she puts on Jon’s posh accent and deepens her voice—“‘couldn’t believe I never told him’ or something.”

“What a wanker,” Melanie says, and unlike the other times she’s insulted Jon this week, there’s actual heat behind it.

“An inconsiderate dickhead,” Georgie agrees. “But,” she admits, “I think I’ve been worse to him.”

“I… I’d say so too,” Melanie replies, but thankfully, she doesn’t push Georgie any further in that direction. Melanie’s fingers flex against Georgie’s arm, a signal that they’ll pick up this thread of conversation later. “Though I still think the real dickhead here is Ms. Trauma Corpse of Medicalville.”

Georgie’s giggle comes out weaker than she expected. “Yeah?”

“Absolutely.” In her most passable radio announcer voice, Melanie cries, “Melanie hates her! Local medical corpse discovers supernatural method to traumatize her girlfriend. Click here to learn more and/or stab that fucker with a cool knife cane.”

Georgie laughs again, and Melanie continues, this time in a bad American tourist voice. “I visited Trauma Corpse with my family yesterday afternoon, and I have to say, it’s a real piece of shit. The human equivalent of a moldy chunk of cheese, or rice cooked in a saucepan. Zero out of five stars.”

“Would not recommend,” Georgie adds.

“Exactly. And,” Melanie presses on, returning to her normal voice, “what kind of name is 'Trauma Corpse' anyway? White people and their ridiculous baby names, seriously!”

This time, Georgie’s laugh is completely genuine. “I agree. It’s disgraceful. Motherfucking ‘Trauma Corpse.’”

“ _Motherfucking_?” Melanie lets out an exaggeratedly affronted gasp. “She fucked your mother, too? A homewrecker on top of everything else? Do Ms. Corpse's crimes ever end?”

That’s an awful—but distracting—mental image, which was probably the point. “Clearly not.”

Melanie smiles, and then, very slowly and carefully, moves to rest her cheek in Georgie’s palm. Her next words blow warm against Georgie’s wrist. “Seriously, though, Georgie… the evil thing here is The End, and whatever else may have been animating that body. Not you or Alex.”

Georgie lets the sentence linger in the air for a moment. Not Georgie’s fault. Not Alex’s. The thought wraps around her, not quite touching her skin, but warm. Close. Possible.

“Thanks,” Georgie says for the third time that night. She means it.

“God,” Melanie sighs into Georgie’s palm, “I’m not very good at this distraction thing, am I?”

“No, but it’s still helping. A lot, actually.”

“Good,” Melanie says, and chastely kisses Georgie’s wrist.

A slow smile spreads over Georgie’s face at the feeling. Said smile sparks several thoughts that occur to her in quick succession. She considers said thoughts, then performs a quick self-assessment: joints feel better, heart beating steadily, emotions fairly settled except for the part where she is very, very in love.

Finally, after making sure she’s okay one more time, Georgie turns to her side and scoots closer to Melanie. “I’m moving my hand away,” she warns her, and then, “I’m going to press my forehead to yours,” and lastly, “Can I put my hand on your hip? Cool.”

Having gotten into position, Georgie begins to speak, leaning into the Scouse a little bit more because, as she’s learned, Melanie likes it a _lot_. “Speaking of distracting me… if you _really_ wanted to do that, I have a few suggestions.”

“Oh!” Melanie practically squeaks. Georgie adores her. “Do you mean sex?”

“Yes. I was thinking maybe… you could ride me? If you’d like.”

Even in the dark, Georgie can sense Melanie’s eyebrows rising. “Well… yes, I _would_ like, but… are _you_ okay for it?”

“Hey now,” Georgie says, “just because we're dating now doesn't mean we can't continue to have sex in un-ideal emotional circumstances.” Melanie huffs out a laugh, but Georgie still clarifies, “But yes, I feel good, and I think you’re wonderful, and this isn’t a shitty coping mechanism or anything. Promise.”

“Okay, then,” Melanie says, audibly smiling. “One distraction, coming right up.”

“Emphasis on _come_ —“ Georgie begins, but is cut off rather pleasantly by Melanie’s mouth.

Georgie kisses Melanie back. As she does so, she feels her heart begin to race.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in a day and that whole day was just *thinks about how georgie is often cast as a caregiver when she's hurting too* *thinks about how lack of fear doesn't mean lack of pain* *thinks about georgie starting to take responsibility for the hurt she caused* *thinks about allowing melanie to show softer forms of care/comfort just as much as she shows Fierce Protection* *thinks about love* *thinks about love*
> 
> also, to clarify, i love jon dearly and i think he is an exceedingly kind person. i also think he wasn't what georgie needed in mag94 and that georgie was very unfair to him in s4 and parts of s3
> 
> comments are good!!
> 
> I hope all of you have a lovely day <3


End file.
